


Alleviating the Boredom

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John shudders, Matt fights to hide a smile.  This is much more interesting than whatever the speaker is babbling on about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alleviating the Boredom

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt "shameless".
> 
> * * *

They've had a three-course meal, enough champagne that they could conceivably float home. And the third speaker is still droning on. 

Matt shifts in his chair, side-glances John to see if John's even half as bored as he is. But John is as relaxed as someone can be in these stiff-backed chairs, eyes riveted on the dude at the podium. Matt's gaze flicks past John to the rest of the people in the ballroom, but the vast majority of them seem just as interested in what the dude – Matt's forgotten if he's the mayor's aide or one of the councilors – has to say. 

Matt crosses and uncrosses his legs. Coughs quietly into his napkin. Thinks longingly of his computer at home and wonders if it would be considered rude if he started working out a coding problem on the back of the "table 17" sign. When he finds his eyelids drooping, he clears his throat and blinks rapidly, tries to concentrate.

Blah blah infrastructure. Yadda yadda laying the groundwork for a better tomorrow.

When his chin hits his chest, Matt jerks up and realizes he's gotta do something before he starts snoring at the table and totally humiliates himself, John, and the rest of the cops and significant others sitting at their table.

He leans back, rests his arm on the back of John's chair to signal one of the waiters circulating quietly in the room. He mouths the word coffee, and he's going to settle back in his chair – he really, really is – when he sees just how close his hand is to the back of John's neck. And just how easy it is to stroke his fingers over the ridge of muscle there. 

Just. like. that. 

John's shoulders hunch, and he can _feel_ that laser gaze flick over to him. He keeps his own eyes fixed forward, intent on the speaker. Lets his index finger roll lazily over the hint of stubble just coming in on the back of John's head before trailing higher, rubbing light circles with the pads of his fingers into the back of John's scalp.

When John shudders, Matt fights to hide a smile. This is much more interesting than whatever the speaker is babbling on about.

John glares at him before shifting forward in his chair, and Matt lets his hand fall back into his lap. He deliberately doesn't look John's way, focuses all his attention on the speaker. When he leans forward, shifts a little sideways in his chair, it merely looks like he's supremely interested in what the dude has to say.

Blah blah an expansive future. Yadda yadda shining a beacon of hope. 

John flinches when Matt's hand finds his dick under the table.

He just lets his hand lie there, resting over the hard ridge of John's cock. Cups his fingers ever so slowly, and feels the flicker of interest. In the way John hitches in his breath, the way his entire body goes rigid. Mostly in the way John's dick surges up against the cheap material of his best dress pants, pressing half-hard against the zipper. 

"Move it," John hisses.

"Okay, if you say so," Matt says. He always does like to oblige. Help out in any way he can.

He flattens his palm against the thin material, rubs his hand slowly against the growing ridge. And is rewarded when John hisses audibly. He glances away from the podium in time to see John's eyes flicker shut, his mouth open in a gasp. Then John's fingers are gripping his wrist in a vice, instantaneously halting the rub of his palm against those cheap slacks. Slacks that are now barely containing what looks like a raging hard-on.

"You have any doubt I could do significant damage to this without breaking a sweat?" John says softly.

Matt swallows, glances at John's face. "That… shouldn't be hot, should it?"

John snorts, shoves his hand away. His glare clearly indicates that Matt's going to pay for this when they get home.

Matt settles back in his chair, smiles. He can't wait.


End file.
